


Already Know You That Which You Need

by Dorasolo



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bonding, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:38:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3528005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorasolo/pseuds/Dorasolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Incorrigible, ridiculous fluff full of swears and discussions about Star Wars, relationships, and running. Also nipples.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Already Know You That Which You Need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CallMeBombshell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeBombshell/gifts).



> As always, thanks Ngozi, I'm stuck in the sandbox and I can't get out.

The Summer Before Senior Year

Shitty Knight moves back into the Haus in the end of July because despite loving the shit out of his mom, he can’t do anything but wilt in the heat and be annoyed at his summer job fetching coffee for this lawyer dude that barely knows his name. Shitty took the job to keep his father happy because his old man has so much stress from the indictment and plea deal that Shitty felt bad. He can feel his brain rotting while he sits at his desk. Hidden underneath the mail he’s filing, and in between phone calls, he reads for fun (he’s on a real Louise Erdrich binge and desperately wants to go out West). When he isn’t reading, he’s texting the team and Lardo obsessively and finding himself buzzing with boredom and loneliness in between responses. So he quits, and heads back to campus nearly a month early. It has nothing to do with the fact that Lardo also decides to come back a month early ‘cause she “just felt like it.”

When she leaves for a two week camping vacation with her family mid-August, the Haus is too quiet and Shitty hates the silence. He convinces himself that solitude and silence are necessary parts of life right now, given that he will have two theses due this year, plus hockey, plus the LSAT in October, _plus_ applying to law schools. He briefly feels content in his aloneness, naked save for his boxer-briefs and wrapped in an authentic (he hopes) Native American blanket that he found at a thrift store. He is very very baked on Lardo’s leftover weed from when she left.

Without Lardo there, his nightly activities have been jerking off to the memory of her tan lines and watching SportsCenter, but it’s like soy bacon trying to be real bacon: good in its own way, but not really the same. 

Shitty is fucking overjoyed to the infinite degree when Bitty moves into the Haus with his mom in tow three days after Lardo leaves because it gives him something to do. He helps Bitty carry boxes, and there are way too many marked ‘kitchen’ for Shitty to believe that they’re all for pie. Bitty’s mom fusses over him, and as a bonus, introduces him to sweet tea (which is 100% phenomenal when blazed off his gourd).

The team is under strict orders to start conditioning for the season, and one morning from the roof where he fell asleep _totally_ by accident ( _not_ at all because his bed feels weird without Lardo), Shitty watches Bitty appear outside of the house in his matching running clothes and take off like the ground caught fire and his shoes would burn. Objectively, Shitty knows that Bitty is fast as fuck when he runs, because he’s fast as fuck when he skates and somebody so little and lean is obviously built to run, but it still impresses the hell out of him. 

It’s not like Shitty is a slow runner; in fact, he’s got just around an 8 minute mile for about 10 miles. But Bitty, that kid probably has a sub-7, maybe even a sub-6, and nobody ever wants to run with him because they generally can’t keep up. Shitty’s options are limited in the Haus: Holzer and Ransom prefer their running to be foreplay for weight lifting, so they go to the gym, and Shitty doesn’t feel like waiting for Jack to get off the ice to go for a run. Shitty does feel like being nosy and interrogating Bitty about Bitty’s feelings for Jack, and figures some quality time is long overdue.

“Hey Bitty,” he bellows, and Bitty looks up, startled.

“Oh gosh, Shitty, you scared me!” 

“Want a running buddy?”

“Heck yeah! Come on down!” 

Bitty is so _nice_. Shitty knows he’ll slow Bitty down more than is reasonable, but he still scrambles to throw on his running clothes and joins Bitty in the yard. He’s wearing black track shorts with the tuna net thingy inside for his guys and a cut-off crop top of a shirt that says ‘Some chicks marry chicks, get over it.’ His hair is awesomely ponytailed and he’s got his aviators. In the common vernacular, Shitty is ready to rock. 

Bitty takes one look at him and furrows his brow, the little wrinkle in his forehead that Shitty secretly calls ‘Jack Jr.’ appearing in full glory.

“For fuck’s sake, Bitty, spit it out,” Shitty mutters, a bit self conscious, “is it my shirt? Did it make you think of vaginas or something and get sick?”

“My word, Shitty,” Bitty drawls, the Southern Belle affect climbing out of his mouth and settling into his entire person, “I did not for one second think about _vaginas_. What I did think about is…” Bitty blushes and motions for Shitty to come closer even though it’s like 6AM and nobody is even awake to hear. 

“ _Chafing_ ,” Bitty whispers, cow eyes wide, “your shirt is at least 50% cotton and I just don’t think that’s an appropriate choice for running.” 

Shitty looks at him for a second, and then down at his shirt, and assumes that inside Bitty’s adorable blonde head, he is truly agonizing about how Shitty put on cotton to run. Before Shitty can offer to change his shirt, Bitty explodes.

“Shitty, how is that _comfortable_ past a couple of miles? And what about your," his voice trails off, horrified, to another whisper, “ _nipples_? You didn’t even pack Vaseline!!” 

Shitty is so amused, he doubles over laughing. “I think I’ve got some kind of wicking fabric somewhere in my room, would that make you happy?” 

Bitty silently points at the Haus, so Shitty goes to change his shirt. After their first run, Shitty buys a few more appropriate running shirts, and he and Bitty fall into a running routine. 

At first, the runs focus on Bitty’s total disdain for Shitty’s running music choices. Bitty waxes poetic about how Shitty is stuck in the 90s with his Boston punk mix consisting of mostly Dropkick Murphys and The Mighty Mighty Bosstones. (“Shitty, this is _not_ the Warped Tour,” Bitty chastises, repeatedly. “Let me make you a new mix.” And he does.)

Another day, about 5 miles in, Shitty asks Bitty to slow down, because he has a deep question.

“Of course,” Bitty agrees, slowly, sounding a bit alarmed, actually taking his eyes from the road as they run, a huge no-no in Bittyland. “Do you want me to pause the Garmin?”

Shitty shakes his head, keeps running. As they slow down, Shitty takes a very deep breath, and Bitty is momentarily terrified that Shitty is about to announce the condom broke and that he and Lardo will be parents by graduation. 

“I would be the Han Solo of the house,” Shitty proclaims. 

Bitty does stop running then, and peers up at Shitty when Shitty backtracks a few steps to stand with Bitty. “Um, I’m sorry Shitty, Lardo would be Han Solo.”

Shitty thinks about it for a second, then nods. “Super fair assessment, bro.”

“I’d be the Luke Skywalker, I’m even blonde.”

“Also super fair.”

Bitty nods, thoughtfully. “Ransom and Holster are the droids. I think you’d be Princess Leia.”

“Excellent. Yes, I can see my flow in double buns. And, wait for it -- Jack is Yoda. Ta-dah!”

A gasp. “Oh my _gosh_ , Shitty, he is _not_ Yoda.”

“But he is! He’s an enigma, a leader in the Force, and like Jack, totally ancient. He is Yoda,” Shitty insists.

“No. He’s Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-Wan is uh, human, and er, um,” Bitty stammers.

“Attractive?” 

Blushing on top of his running flush, Bitty nods. “Obviously.”

Shitty ponders for a moment. “Yeah ok. But would that make you pre-Sith Anakin? They were _totally_ hot for each other, everybody knows that.” 

“ _Shitty_.” His blush cannot possibly be worse. 

“I call ‘em how I see ‘em,” Shitty answers, shrugging. “This Star Wars shit has a purpose, Bits. You get to choose your own destiny, Luke Skywalker. You are not destined to be some sad, unrequited, 'could have been but only' love story. As a man who knows, _and_ as your sister from the same mother if I’m Leia, I’m gonna tell you something that’s totally 100% what’s up. You like him, he likes you, so this year is the year for something to happen off the ice. I believe in you. Now, race me home, kick my ass, and let’s eat the shit out of some pancakes.” 

Shitty is off and running before Bitty can get a word in edgewise, but because Shitty is almost always right, Bitty still beats him home.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter as tuberculisa!


End file.
